Diable de la Lune
by Eric Draven201
Summary: The strangest things always seem to happen under a full moon.... Even more so when Vergil is involved. Rated for language.
1. First Full

**A/N:** _This is a collabration between KuroAlma and Eric Draven201 (me). Right now, we aren't sure just what genre to put this under... but we'll figure it out eventually. Anyways, we don't own Bull-crap... except maybe the Kenyan. Please enjoy and please don't for get to review... that's our bread and butter 'round these parts!_

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Diable de la Lune

Chapter 1: First Full

Moving. Day. Sucks! You guessed it! My family is packing up their lives in little cardboard boxes to be shipped out to God knows where. For as long as I could remember, my family traveled... a lot. I don't even know if I ever stayed in a town long enough to make a single friend. We weren't a military family or anything, but at times it sure felt like it. My father worked as an interpreter for a 'Fortune 500' company, I could honestly care less of its name. We always had to pack up and move at the company's whim so that he could translate to the 'big wigs' what their foreign business partners wanted.

Moving was always met with its own complications. The first issue was school. No, I never went to school. My parents thought it was best to home school me, because they believed that placing me into a mainstream school and then uprooting me would be too difficult. Second was companionship. As a home schooler, you don't make many friends, so your only other option was to get a pet. At first there was a goldfish, but it died within a few weeks. Then there was the puppy. The tragic story of my puppy. We adopted him from a shelter and then six months later we got the word from up top that it was time to move again. Once again that poor dog was put up for adoption. Now you ask, why not just take the dog with you... The answer was pretty simple. Animals don't travel well and sometimes the little critters are not allowed in the houses we move into. We don't question why we can't have them; we just do... especially when you live in a house practically for free. From then on, I wasn't allowed to have a pet, because it wouldn't be fair to the animal. Fair to the animal? What about _me_?

I'm sorry. I must sound selfish to you. I guess I'm entitled to be, since I am an only child. Under different circumstances, my parents would have probably had another child. But they haven't had the chance to settle down just yet. Heh... settle. Now that's a foreign word. I don't know what to make of it. I've gotten _comfortable_ before, but never had I settled.

I sat on the floor and stared at a box just in front of me. I remember the last time I packed it. I didn't dare to unpack it in this house, because I was determined not to let the company catch me off-guard again. Of all the places I had been, I never bothered to learn the native tongue. I mean... what was the use? I'd be gone in a few months anyhow. Of course, I learned the basics: _Where's the food_... _I need to pee_... and _where do I sleep_? All of the phrases that I thought sufficient to survive.

Another man entered what use to be my room and removed the box I was focusing on. I had enough of this house and the dusty marketplace near it. I got up and walked out to take my last steps in Morocco. I walked and kept walking past the children playing soccer in an empty lot and past the bazaar where the marketers attempted to beckon me closer to see their wares. Towards the end I happened across my reflection in an old clock a man was peddling. There I stood with coffee colored eyes staring with a jaded expression on my face. My once caramel skin now seared by the hot sun into a complexion something more akin to milk chocolate. My golden-brown hair is done in a thick shag of dreadlocked braids, ending just below my neck. Mom had nagged that I should cut my hair, but she gave in when I at least promised to keep it neat.

I continued down the boulevard, going nowhere in particular. I stopped at food stall and bought what was sure to be my final authentic kabob. I finished it off and headed back to the house. Once I got back there, the movers had already finished up and Dad had called me over to car so that we could head to the airport. It was a two hour drive to Casablanca where we boarded our plane, an eight hour flight to Heathrow in London, followed by a day long lay-over. From there, another extra long flight into Montreal, our final destination.

Who would have 'thunk' it? Another French speaking country. _Bonjour_... _Où est la nourriture_? ... _J'ai besoin de faire pipi_... _Où dors-je_? No problem... it's not like a language ever stopped Dad from doing his job. _Why Canada_, I thought to myself, _I'll be like the only Black guy there_.

Night had once again settled upon us, but this time in a new city. Dad thought it was best to check into a hotel for the night and then check out or new house tomorrow... at least when our things were due to arrive. Moving is always a tiring experience, but I found myself to be extremely restless. I needed to get out. I threw on a black tee shirt, a pair of jeans, and a jacket with some black sneakers. I grabbed the card key to the hotel room and went out to face the moonlit city.

I traipsed across the main Rues and down the empty alleyways. The back areas were dotted with the homeless that I'm sure city officials tried to keep away from the public eyes and away from the knowledge of the tourists. Some were huddled together in a hopeless attempt to combat the chill. Pray they survive the night. I went farther near an old brownstone apartment building and passed its front. There I spied a white cat waiting patiently on the front stoop. It was probably a stray, although it did appear to be well. It stared at me, with its eyes shimmering in the moonlight. It broke its glare when the front door of the apartment opened. It didn't run and it didn't make a sound. It stood its ground and eyed the young woman in a pink nightgown that appeared at the door. She placed a plate of food on the porch and reached down to pet the cat. It moved into her loving touch. She retreated into the warmth of the building and the cat made quick work of the food. It padded down the steps, across the street and towards me. From there I got a better look at the as it passed. He... and I'm guessing it's a he... had a fluffy, but well groomed white coat, bright blue eyes with a ribbon of equal hue tied around his neck.

The more I looked at him, the more I began to believe that the cat belonged to someone. Did he belong to that woman or was he an extremely street savvy cat? He strutted off with his tail held high, which resembled a puffy cloud of smoke. _Strange_ _creature_, I thought to myself. With that, I went back to the hotel to grab some sleep.

I backtracked through the alleys trying to remember how to get back the hotel. Do I make a left here or a right...? Shit! I was lost. Each city I ever lived in was an urban exploration experience... I'd wander and somehow found my way back. But now, I couldn't make heads or tails of the Labyrinth called Montreal. It was like something was jamming my sense of direction. I remembered making two rights and I was flanked by two walls and another crossing in front of me. Just as was making my about-face to head into the other direction, I saw the little white fur-ball in front of me, hissing wildly. It stood in front of the only opening in the alley with its hair standing on end. "What the hell's up with you," I asked it, not expecting a response, "There's nothing there, you dumb cat."

No sooner did I insult the animal, a blood-red portal opened just above us. It rippled like wind moving across the sea. A set of dark hooves slid down with ease out of the opening to reveal as near as I could tell a goat. It wasn't the Billy goat that I was used to seeing when we lived in Jerusalem. It had dark brown fur all over his body with black on his head and back with curling horns on top of its head. Its eyes were a shocking crimson. As he descended slowly to the pavement in front of us, I noticed that the goat-thingy had furry hands instead front hoofs. In fact it seemed more human like, especially with it standing on its hind legs. At that point, I was sure that my brown eyes bulging from their sockets.

It roared malevolently at me and I just about wet my pants! I stupidly backed away from the demonic-looking goat, cornering myself in the process. I couldn't stop staring and I didn't have the good sense to run. The only thing that broke me out of my fear-induced stupor was seeing the cat pouncing on the goat, garnering a very loud, "BAAAAAAH," as it was tackled. I didn't have time to absorb the WTF moment. Instincts kicked in as I grabbed a wooden chair that was sticking out of the dumpster. I held it to the side as I got a running start at it, swinging the chair madly like a crazy person. Before I knew it I was like a pro-wrestler slamming the chair into the goat over until it was reduced to splinters. The goat bleated again before it disappeared into another rippling red puddle. "Yeah," I gloated, "go back to wherever you came! Triple H ain't got nothing on me!" I look around and notice that I'm all alone. The goat was gone and so was that cat. It was just me and the pile of chipped wood. I dropped the remainder and ran off. I miraculously found the main Rue and rush back to the hotel. Within moments, I had slipped back into the room, unnoticed and swore that I'd never mention what happened tonight.

The sun rose and Dad was ready to take a look at the house. We checked out and hopped into our rented car and made the five mile trip to a Suburban area known as Mount Royal Village. We made it to our new house just before a moving van pulled up. The men hopped out and unloaded, placing a myriad of boxes and half-assembled furniture in their correct rooms. And like clockwork they were gone. We toured the house and Mom fell in love. I had to admit it was nice. It was bigger than the place in Spain, but a little smaller than the one Russia. Mom and Dad began to unpack and I toured the area, stepping down random avenues and boulevards. Before I knew it I was at an open-air farmer's market. I walked down to see corridor after corridor of bustling stalls. The freshest fruits, vegetables, flowers and there were even some seafood for sale. I continued down the aisle to see the same white cat from the night before.

He stood there and eyed me, waiting for me to make my move. And I bent down to pet him. He twisted his back up and down making a wave of fur. He moved in closer and then made a swipe at my leg. "Hey," I shouted. Before I could do anything, he had run off. I looked down to see that he had slashed a hole one of the lower pockets in my cargo pants. I would have been fine with just the hole, but with it, came the discovery that my money was gone and that it was nowhere near me. The _friggin_'cat stole my money! I turned to see that the animal was practically galloping down the corridor. I got up ran after him shouting, "Give me back my money!"

I chased the little white fur-ball down one corner of the market to another, before I lost it. _Damn!_ Its not every day that your money is stolen by a _cat! _I spotted a police officer leaning against a fence near one of the stalls. For a while, I debated whether or not if I should say something. I decided that I'd go and plead my case. I mean... what was the harm? I tell him and he would probably feel sorry and give me at least five bucks.

"Excuse me sir," I began, not sure if the man knew any English, "Umm... I'd like to report that my money was stolen."

"Really," he replied, "by whom." I was a little taken aback, considering that the man not only spoke English, but better than I.

"Well, I," I said rather sheepishly, "a cat."

"Really? Look, I don't have time to deal with childish pranks."

"No, I'm serious! It was a little white cat with a blue ribbon around its neck."

The officer put his finger up as if to tell me to wait. He walked away a few feet to a colleague that I hadn't noticed before. I could tell that he was telling the other man of my ordeal, because soon I heard a deep, rich laugh from him. No help whatsoever.

I left and stopped at a stall where a man was setting some fresh fish on some ice. "Have you seen a white cat with money in his mouth," I asked flatly as I made hand gestures to make my words clearer.

"Un Chat," he said, "Non." At least he understood what I was talking about. I let out a dejected sigh. "Why would a cat need money," the man mused aloud in a thick accent, "He can't buy anything."

I didn't even feel like making a reply. I was just about to turn to head "home," when a snowy white blur passed just out the corner of my eye. I turned to see that crafty cat leapt onto the counter. He dropped a few bills and coins on the counter and waited patiently. The man put a nice sized fish on the counter and raked the money into his pocket. The cat bit into the fish and took off with it.

"What the hell was that," I shout at the man, "I thought you can't sell fish to a cat!"

"What are you talking about? I didn't sell anything to a cat."

"Then what the hell was that?! What took the fish?!"

"Le petit fantôme blanc. Cats can't buy anything. Now a _ghost_ is perfectly capable of purchasing food." I'm not sure what face I made at that point. Did I stare in disbelief? I don't know. But I'm sure that the shock I felt when he said that, was painted all over my face.

"Now are you going to buy something or not," he began raising his voice in anger as he violently waved a butcher knife around, "I don't have time to talk about invisible cats." At this point, I began to slowly back away from the man who proved that the crazies walk among us.

I shuffled along, needing some time to process exactly what happened today. My money was stolen by a _cat_... The same cat bought fish from a crazy vendor... then I was mind-fucked in two... nope make it three different languages (if you count the demon goat). What a day! Before I knew it, my wandering brought me to that same brownstone apartment from last night. There I saw the same woman as before, sitting on the stoop petting the cat. That sneaky bastard! That... Phantom. That's what I decided to call him. I've seen him enough times, so I'm entitled to name him, aren't I? Phantom... hell, that's what the old fish butcher called him... le petit fantôme blanc, the little white phantom. Don't get me wrong... I didn't consciously take up the language. I merely picked up on it.

I decided that I needed to have a talk with the cat lady and maybe demand for my money back. "Welcome back, kitty," I heard as I approached. She was a beautiful woman. She had curly, brunette locks that framed her soft fair face. She was dressed in yellow sweater and blue jeans. She seemed so innocent, like she'd never hurt a fly. She must have heard me coming because, she looked up and greeted be with a friendly, "Bonsoir!"

"Bonsoir," I returned, "is that your cat." No time to mince words.

She giggled. "No," she said, "he is how you say..." She searched for the word for a moment, "a stray."

"So, you take care of him," I asked.

"No, he takes care of himself, but sometimes I leave him something to eat." Aw, Man! Not only is she super nice, but the little bastard doesn't even belong to her. There's no way that I can get my money back from her.

I breathed out an exasperated sigh and sat a few steps below her. I could have sworn that the cat rolled his eyes at me. "He used to have owners," the woman offered. I raised my eyebrows to show that I was listening.

"Yes, an old woman down the rue used to keep this cat in her flat. She died over ten years ago and le petite chat was left to wander all alone. He's a smart kitty, though. He learned to survive on his own."

Smart was right. She held the crafty son-of-a-bitch in her lap. He licked his chops and smiled at me. I swear it did!

"I think his a bit old," she continued out of the blue.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well... I played with him ever since I could remember. Papa said that he played with him when he was little. Quite a few people around here are familiar with this cat." The animal didn't honestly look old and decrepit. He looked like he could have been a newborn kitten just a few years ago. He curled up in her lap, his body forming a perfect "o" and purred.

"Have you heard of the story of the demon and the witch?"

"No," I shook my head.

"The legend goes that there was a beautiful witch who hunted demons. She vowed that one day; she would rid the world of all of those evil creatures. There came a day when she feel in love with a man. He then turned out to be a demon himself. Feeling that she couldn't kill her love, she used a spell to strip him of his powers and turned him into her pet. Years passed and she died of old age. The cat howled for her, disbelieving that the old woman was his love. It is said that on the night of the full moon, he regains his powers and sheds his beastly form and roams the city to search for her."

She looked down at me and then said, "Je suis désolé. I'm boring you aren't I?"

"N-no."

"Its okay. I have to get dinner started anyways. I'm Aimee," she reached a hand down to shake mine.

"Kenny... and it was nice to meet you," I replied, taking her hand in mine.

"Enchanté," she said.

"I'd better head back," I said rather dumbly. She nodded and that was that. I took off for the house.

Surprisingly, it wasn't all that far from the woman's flat. Within the hour, I was at the front door, knocking because I hadn't thought to get a key before I left. Mom answered the door and instructed me to get ready for dinner. I stepped inside to see that the major furniture was for the most part, were already set up and that decorations and wall treatments were hanging proudly. The kitchen was also set up with care. They sure did unpack quickly. What did I expect? They are like experts by now.

"Kenyan," she said in a stern voice, "What have I told you about pets?"

"No pets," I began as I turned to face her, "but I d-" To my surprise, Phantom had followed me home. _Stupid little fur-ball! _

"Send him back wherever he came."

I looked at her and said, "I have no idea where he came from. He must have followed me." She took a closer look at the cat and saw how well groomed he was.

"He must belong to someone," she said, "strays normally don't look this clean and well-fed. First thing in the morning, you need to find out who owns him." I wondered why the sudden change of heart.

But she must have read my mind because she then said, "Poor thing... we can't leave him out in the cold tonight."

I scooped up the cat and took him up to my room. Once up there, I noticed that my book shelf and bed were fully assembled. Phantom jumped out of arms and scaled his way to the top of my shelf. _Damned_ _cat_. I made sure that the windows were closed before I left Phantom to his nap. I'd be damned if I was held responsible because he decided to jump out of a window. I went down stairs again, washed my hands and sat down to dinner.

My mother, God bless her, cooks like a five star chef, but sometimes I wish she'd settle on Sloppy Joe's once and a while. Tonight's menu boasted mixed vegetables, rice and broiled salmon. Great... more fish. I take a few bites from the rice and the veggies and pushed the rest around the plate.

"What's the matter, son," Dad asked, "You were out exploring the city all day. Didn't you have any fun?"

"Yeah... I'm just not hungry. That's all. I think the cat's starving. May I take this up to him?" Mom nodded and I excused myself from the table with the plate. I brought the food to the room and placed in on the floor, near the door. Phantom detected the aroma in the air and practically pounced on top of the plate. The salmon was gone in the matter of seconds and I found myself wondering why he wasn't fat. When he finished, I took the plate back downstairs to wash it. By the time I got back to my room, Phantom had found a comfortable spot on my bed.

I sat beside him, unpacking some boxes, putting some of the items away. I looked over to the next box and spotted a leather bound bundle leaning against the wall behind it. I walked over and unwrapped the bindings. It was the double-sided sword Grandpa gave me for my birthday. When he handed it to me he only said, "Just in case." He called the Sun and Moon. The sword had two retractable blades coming from a center hilt. Positioning it to left, brought forth the Sun and the right was the Moon. If the hilt was centered both blades would extend from either side.

Mom and Dad protested him giving me the sword, but when he passed away they let me have it as a keepsake. Grandpa told me that I was special, that I can do and see what others couldn't. When I was younger, I hung on his every word. But now that I'm older, I'm not so sure that I believe that anymore. I fiddled with the sword as I swam in my thoughts about the cat on my bed.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the cat wasn't all that bad. I began to ask myself why I was so upset. That I had come into the company of a wise animal? Was I mad that the cat had saved my life? Or was it the money? I patted my empty pocket... Yep, it was the money.

By now, I was getting sleepy and I was thankful at how efficient we were at moving. Not only was I sleeping in a bed, but the cable had already been set up! I turned on the T.V. and flipped through the channels before setting on Adult Swim. _Shin_ _Chan _was on. It was an old episode... the one where the rabbit scares the mess out of Penny and her mother. I loved that one. Every now and then I chuckle at the madness before dozing a little. I look over to see Phantom lying at my feet and the last thing I saw was the full moon outside of my window.

My eyes sprang open at the sound of Phantom hissing at the window. "Again?" I wearily dragged myself from the bed to see what had gotten the cat upset. I was in full-denial about the goat from earlier, so I made up my mind that maybe the wind blew too hard, sending a twig against the window or something. I was just about to write off the crazy cat when I saw the weirdest thing... ever.

Phantom stood up on his hind legs and seemed to grow to a height of around six feet. His snowy fur went receded into milky-white skin. Before I knew it, There was a tall man of wiry muscle, with platinum hair standing stark naked in front of my bedroom window. "It's here," he uttered softly. Half a second later, that oh-so familiar portal of red appeared in front of him with another goat stepping out. It made a move to punch the man, but he caught it mid-swing with one hand. He looked over his shoulder at me with his piercing cold-blue eyes. Then he said, with a chilly edge evident in his voice, "Boy, give me the sword."

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**Eric:** Who be the nakey man?

**Kuro:** I'm not telling... they'll just have to find out in the next chapter.

_We hope that you enjoyed chapter one and we expect to have another soon, so please stick around._


	2. Ta Dah?

Chapter 2: Ta-Dah?

My jaw slackened as I began to process what was happening. "The blade," the man repeated. I picked up my grandfather's dual sword, but somehow my mind and body hadn't made the connection to hand the weapon over to the creepy cat-man. So, I stood there... with my mouth agape... letting in flies. I only managed to snap out of my trance when the goat-monster-thingy took a swipe at him, making three long and deep gashes across his bear torso with its claws. Crimson slowly filled the wounds. He quietly sucked in air between his teeth, trying not to belay any pain to me or the monster. He was still somehow able to keep a sure grip on its other clawed hand.

The man pull the monster closer to him with a swift yank as he balled his fist to sock it straight into its face. He man's closed fist dug into the goat's face with a sickeningly, moist thud. He pulled back and punched again, caving in the thing's face. No matter the beating he gave it, the more it tried to advance. The man ducked as the goat took a swing and he then made a low sweeping kick to knock it off its feet. He then slid back to where I was standing and grabbed the sword I was holding. And I was so useless; I was like a coat rack standing the corner.

He swung the vertically at his side. Both blades extend, with the sword twirling as fast as a plan's propellers. He had done it so aptly; I would have thought that he had once owned the sword for himself. He _waited_ for the goat to get to its feet, like, dare I say it, a gentleman. This whole fight was like a gentleman's fight. The man looked like he honored some sort of swordsman's code. I watched as he brought the spinning blades, horizontally over his head. With each rotation, his sinew rippled with the exertion, making me jealous that I wasn't as toned.

The man spunthe blades into the goat, shredding it like food into a blender. The faster the sword rotated the more blood spewed from the monster, painting the walls and the man. With the final swing of the blade, the goat fell to the floor uttering a death cry. It didn't bleat like it did last time, but only let out a dying, "MOOOOOOOO!" Yes... it mooed... like a cow. And I bet the confusion was written plainly all over my face. I had only been in town for two nights and I had already more than enough 'WTF' moments.

The white haired man flicked his wrist and the blood on the blades flew off and splattered on the floor, in a semi-circle around where he was standing. He walked back towards me, taking slow and deliberate steps. Again, I was rooted in place. If he was a psycho serial killer, I was truly a goner. He stopped in front of me and his crystalline eyes bore into mine. I swear that tremors began rocking through my body at that very moment.

He placed the sword back into my hands, which were still oddly outstretched, and then he said, "Your bathroom." It was two simple words, more really an order than a question. I was still shaking in fear and my teeth were chattering madly. Somehow I managed to say, "T-t-two doors down the hall on the left." He listened to the directions I gave him and he then brushed past me and stepped out into the hall.

He walked to where I described and closed the door behind him. That's about when I noticed the bloody footprints that he left behind. I don't know why but the only thing that crossed my mind was to clean up and hide the evidence. I went downstairs and returned to my room with a myriad of cleaning supplies. I began with the hallway and continue on into my room working on the bloody walls and ceiling. I was like a psychotic Cinderella, compulsively cleaning the room. Cleaning up the blood was relatively easy and the goat's remains were gone. I had two theories about that. It was either A) it was probably sent to another portal or B) The man pulled a David Copperfield before my eyes and made the diced carcass disappear. It wasn't too far-fetched! I mean, as of ten minutes ago the man used to be a cat.

I continued to scrub, praying that no CSI would one day come across this room with their fancy instruments. So this must be how those people must feel when they desperately trying to hide a crime. Some twenty minutes later, I had finished cleaning the horror movie set that was my room. At the same time, the man had exited the bathroom with a huge cloud of steam billowing out from behind him. He had a towel wrapped around his waist as he entered my room again. His hair was carefully half-slicked back and half-styled into careful spikes. And his wounds had miraculously healed. He then, began rummaging through my unpacked boxes.

Still a little shaken over what had just happened, I left the man to his own devices and went to the bathroom thinking that it was yet another room I'd have to clean. As soon I peered inside, two words flew out of my mouth, "Holy Fuck!" I was utterly surprised at what I saw... or rather what I didn't see. I could clearly remember the guy dripping in blood; so much so that his hair was plastered to his face as it began to dry. I stepped farther into the bathroom and saw that everything for the most part remained undisturbed. The only thing that would give away that someone was once there was the place it was still steamy like a sauna. There was no blood on the tiled floor, nor was there any other demonic bodily fluid that I could see. Maybe this guy was some kind of mystical hit-man. I guess that would sort of make sense. It looked like cleaning up and hiding a body was second nature to him.

I stumbled back into the hallway and slid on the wet floor back to my room to see he was beginning to dress himself in _my_ clothes! My first thought was, _I hope to God that he doesn't go commando._ He must have read my thought because he looked up and turned around to face me with those creepy pale eyes. I instantly shuffled backwards and fell straight on my butt. He continued past me and down the stairs. I looked back into the room to see a pack of freshly opened boxers lying on the bed. So, I guess he isn't free-ballin'. I'm not sure that I took much solace in that.

I could hear him downstairs rifling through our things. There were the sounds of drawers opening and closing with the silverware loudly jingling in them. _What is he doing?! He's going to wake up Mom and Dad!_ I raced down to the kitchen before our late-night visitor woke everyone up. As reached the bottom landing, I spotted the white-haired stranger exit the kitchen and enter the family room with jar of peanut butter one hand and a chocolate bar in the other. He then proceeded to seat himself on one of the sofas and turned on the television. He flipped though the channels until he settled on the History channel.

I felt like a voyeur as I watched him dip the chocolate into the peanut butter and savored every morsel. He hovered somewhere between a thin and a medium build, after all he was able to fit into my favorite pair of blue flannel pajama bottoms and black shirt with no problems. However, he was still feasting on the stolen candy like a glutton; as if he had never had food before. _Didn't he just eat salmon like a few hours ago?_ He kept at his food and television program as if he hadn't noticed (or rather didn't care) that I was there.

"Oh God!" he uttered to himself in pure ecstasy, "chocolate and peanut butter... whoever thought of this was a true genius."

"You'd think that you never had them before," I said smartly. _Oops! Did I say that aloud? _I pray that the scary man either didn't hear me or continued to ignore my presence. He began to say, "I haven't eaten this in such –" He realized that I was there and his icy scowl returned. He cut himself off by saying, "There's no need for me to explain myself to a _human_." He spat that out with so much disdain that you would have thought that acid had coated his tongue.

I forgot my fear as I voice that I was offended by his comments, "Look, guy! I don't know who you think you are, or what stick is shoved up your ass but, you don't go about being a rude asshole for no reason. You are in my house and we have rules around here!" I poke him in the chest to further assert myself. Big – no, scratch that – HUGE mistake. Before I could blink, he had me pinned to the wall. I didn't know what scared me more the blood-thirsty grin on his face or the fact that there was a blue translucent sword forming in his hand. He pressed it against my throat, just hard enough to draw blood and leaned in close to whisper, "Address me in that way again, human, and you will die a slow and painful death. Do you understand me?" I nodded my head and whimpered a weak, "Yes."

He let go and as I rubbed my sore throat, I noticed that he was already sitting on the couch again eating and watching TV as if nothing had happened. Yep, this guy was _definitely_ a psycho. I get the feeling that he's done this before.

"Good," he said engrossed in the program, "I will not have you ruining 'Cities of the Underworld'." He looked on, despite the fact that the show was dubbed in French. The man on the screen went on about how the vaulted chambers under a large metropolitan city were used as opium dens. The man on the program continued to squeeze down a tiny hole to access the den and was given a tour by a local archeologist. The psycho was practically close to polishing off the entire jar. Mom's not going to be too happy about that. I glanced intermittently to the TV and back to the man again.

Finally there was a commercial break and the man said without taking his eyes off of the screen, "What is it, human?" He must have _felt _me staring.

"Look... why do you keep calling me that? I have a name! It's Kenyan."

"I am no fool. I know what your name is... human. I am merely calling you what you are."

"And I suppose you're not one?" Of course, not... he was just a cat... just like that legend. I had realized that my statement was rather stupid. I wanted to face-palm myself.

"No. I am not."

"Then, what are you?"

"It's none of your concern."

"You're under a spell, aren't you," I pressed the questioning, despite the fact that the show was returning from its break, "You're that demon in that story... you were turned into an animal by your human lover! Just li—" I am interrupted by a whistling sound going past my ears. The man looked like he hadn't moved a muscle. I slowly look behind me to see a blue, ghostly sword sticking out of the wall. Attached to it is a single braided dread lock of my hair. I reach up to confirm that the man had indeed sheared off a piece of my hair.

"Next time, I shall not miss," he stated calmly, still enamored by the show.

"I-I-I don't want any trouble," I stammered.

"Then you will do well to keep your mouth shut."

"I just want to know why you are here." Either my words must have struck a cord or he figured that he'd never watch TV in peace as long as I was there. I suspect the latter. He sighed and looked up the TV as the show's ending credits cued onto the screen.

"Boy, it is best that you forget about what you have seen tonight," he replied after some deliberation. He had a look in his eyes that told me that he hoped that buy what he said and drop the issue.

"Are you are or are you not the demon in Aimee's story?" Aimee appeared to be in her twenties and she had said that her father had as a child; also played with the white cat... making for a very old animal. The man in front of me didn't look like he was a day over thirty, even with the silvery-white hair. Something inside of me hoped that it wasn't the case, because otherwise... that would be weird.

"Ne pas demander de vérité que vous ne pouvez pas accepter," he said as he reached for the remote control.

I only got the gist of what he said, but he basically said I wouldn't like what he told me. "What is that supposed to mean," I objected.

"All is not what it seems. Don't ask for the truth if you can't accept it." That's somewhat true. Once you know something, you can not un-see or un-hear it. The man flipped through over a hundred channels in less than a second before settling on the National Geographic channel. He sat back and watched a hungry lion attack an innocent gazelle as a British man narrated the whole scene in a strangely soothing voice. "The alpha male of this Serengeti the first to feast on the fallen animal..."

"I-i-if you don't mind me asking," I began cautiously treading water, "why is it that you like chocolates and peanut butter so much?" He looked me for a long time. A long... long... long time. His cold stare had told me that it was _the_ stupidest question that he had heard in a long time.

He decided to humor me anyways, hoping that he could watch his new program in peace if he did so. He said, "There are certain things I can't eat as cat and things I abhor in this form. Fish being one of them."

"What? But you finished up _two _whole salmon tonight."

"Like I said, as a cat my dietary choices were limited. As I cat, I ate as much fish as I wanted but, now... ugh! The stench of it! Reminds me of Japan," he absently went off on a tangent, "Sakana ... Soreha sakana TSUNENI datta. Tabe rusubeteha sakana dearu." My Japanese was quite limited, but I managed to catch 'sakana' or fish during his rant. I almost wish that I hadn't asked the question. I guess spending years as a cat, hating fish and then ending up in Japan would drive anyone nuts!

He continued to ramble on in Japanese when he suddenly stopped with eyes growing wide and said, "Get your weapon, now!"

"But—"

"Now!"

I hurried upstairs to my bedroom. Once I had retrieved the Sun and Moon blade, a strange feeling washed over me. My skin was freezing, but my insides were burning, almost as if I was being microwaved. Then I had the sudden urge to vomit. I somehow held it back and did what I was told, returning to the white-haired man's side with sword in hand. "Let's go," he calmly said with electric blue eyes sliding towards me.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Another demon is approaching and if you'd rather see your house in shambles, then don't take your fight to the outside." I follow his logic and him outside. Just a few steps from the front door, we were met by a similar demonic-goat-being, except that it was much bigger! The thing was so muscular that you would have thought it chugged steroids by the gallon... everyday!

"I thought you killed it already?!"

"Didn't you know," he replied with a smirk playing at his lips, "they travel in pairs at the very least. He's probably upset that I killed his woman." _Woman? That other thing was a female?!_ The thing let out a violent roar as it lunged at us.

The man summoned at least ten of those translucent-blue swords at the beast, pushing it back from its advance. I promptly handed over the sword the man and he said, "Boy, NEVER relinquish your sword. It is your only defense against demons."

"What about you?"

"I have my ways," he remarked as he produced another spectral sword, but this time, fashioned it to look like a katana. He brought his sword up and rushed in at the speed of light. Again, I stood there, useless. I watched how the demon dug its claws into the man's face, only to have it healed instantaneously. The man teleported right above the beast and kick it downward, majorly denting the concrete in its wake. The rest of the city was most likely asleep while these two were having a fight to the death in a flower garden. I was the only one not doing something. I wanted to be included and for some reason, I wanted the approval of the strange man. I wanted him to see that I _wasn't_ a screw up.

I raised my sword and joined the fray with a loud battle cry. Hey, that's how it works in the movies. I swung at the creature, narrowly missing the man. The creature easily dodged my attack and he took a swipe at me with his claws which I somehow avoided. It attacked with its other arm and I didn't see it coming. The man made a move to block for me, but he was too late.

The beast bore its claws into my chest. The pain radiated from that spot and seared throughout my body. I inhaled, then exhaled and blood dripped from my mouth. I was caught in an endless exhale, trying to avoid the pain of breathing. It pulled back and I was forced backwards to the ground as the claw was freed. The man sliced through the creature and then beheaded it. I was cold all over and very tired. I wanted to close my eyes... at least for a second.

My eyes sprang open again to find that the man was shaking me awake. His voice was so distorted. I struggled to understand. There was panic in his once unflappable eyes. And I thought that he didn't like humans. Before I knew it, he had scooped me up and raced down the main boulevard. The whole city seemed to go by in a blur. In no time at all, we were in front of Aimee's brownstone apartment. The man frantically banged on the front door and rang her buzzer. "Alright, Alright! I'm coming," a sleepy voice came from the intercom. Some seconds later, Aimee appeared at the door in a knee-length, pink nighty. She let out a short gasp and questioned the man, "Vergil?" Her eyes traced a path from me to the man holding me before she invited us into her apartment.

Once inside, she silently directed the man to lay me on the couch. She left and brought back some first-aid supplies as the man did what he could to stop the bleeding and keep me conscious. "What have you done to this boy?"

"Not now, Aimee," he shot back, "Can you help him or not?"

"Are you growing a conscience, Vergil? Is the curse working, Son of Sparda?"

"Aimee!"

"You of all people should know that it is not within my power to heal anyone. I'm sorry." Vergil looked at me trying to reassure that I'd be alright without any words. "There is one thing you can do," Aimee suddenly chimed in, "but it's risky."

"What is it?" There was desperation in his voice.

"Give the boy some of your blood."

"What?"

"You're a demon and you can rapidly regenerate, so it should be able help him. There may a drawback," she said.

"The curse," Vergil spoke up.

She nodded and said as she handed him a dagger from a table, "just dropping some over his wound should help."

Vergiltook the blade from her hand and cut a slit into his hand and remarked in a low voice, "I hope you are right about this, witch."

* * *

Eric: Did we manage to rock the fangirl vote?

Kuro: I dunno, but I got five dollars that says Kenyan dies.

Eric: I got ten bucks!

Shadow: You both realize that you are voting against your own OC?

Eric AND Kuro: Shaddup!

Shadow: (sigh) Idiots! Anyways, please review!


	3. The Pact and the Bombshell

_We would like to thank everyone who has bothered to read our crap, reviewed, or even added. You are cool peeps and you make the world go 'round. Thanks! It has been a long while since the last post and for that, we are sorry.... Well, maybe not KuroAlmo. He's kind of an asshole. Anyhoo.... sit back and enjoy our craziness. Happy reading!_

* * *

Chapter 3: The Pact and the Bombshell

_Drawback? What drawback,_ I drowsily thought as delirium had already begun set in. Their voices were so distant and distorted that I could only pick out bits and pieces of what they were saying. I was the passive observer here. The cut on Vergil's hand had begun to heal, but he forced it open again. By then, sleep overwhelmed me and I blacked out. The rest… I believed I hallucinated.

Out of the darkness I heard Aimee's disembodied voice calling out to me.

"Kenyan… Kenyan… Can you hear me?"

"Yes," I croaked out an answer.

"It's your still choice. We cannot do this against your will."

"A … Choice?"

"Yes. Either you die here and now as a human, or you live… as something more monstrous than man." Her tone was soft and sweet, chiming to me like a bell. But her words were frank. It was the truth and I was glad for it. All of my life I was treated like a child, told only sugarcoated half-truths. I was grateful for the choice.

But I didn't want to die.

"A monster," I questioned.

"Yes… What is your choice?"

"Okay," was all I could manage in a low, raspy whisper. When it all boiled down to it, unconscious or not, I had already made a decision. Would I regret it?

"Reach for it," I heard her whisper. I tried to do as I was told. But my arms felt like lead. I opened my eyes and saw a whole world out of focus, but something shimmering caught my eye. It seemed so far away, but still I reached for it. I don't know why I did it, but for some reason I felt like I could make gravitate towards me. After a moment, it did. As if it was following my _will_.

As it came into clarity a golden aura dance around it with a brilliance that made me shield my sensitive eyes. I blinked a few times to see that I was now holding onto what I thought was a toy. It was a lion and it reminded me of a plush toy complete with the fuzzy mane. I studied it for a short moment before it suddenly shattered into golden crystals and showered upon me. It encased me in a warm glow.

I closed my eyes again and heard a loud, guttural roar. It was like something straight out of Jurassic Park!

My eyes snapped open and I shot up into a sitting position, panting in a cold sweat. I scanned my unfamiliar surroundings. Well, let me rephrase that. At the time, things didn't seem so familiar. It took me a moment to realize that I was in back my room. My unpacked boxes were still stacked in the far corner and the TV played an advertisement for an energy drink called Power Thirst in French. So, I was still in Montreal. _Was that all a dream_, I asked myself.

The sun began to rise and spilled its rays all over my room. The light shined up onto the bookcase, revealing a white fluffy tail. I guess the dream theory went up into smoke. If it wasn't a dream... had I really died. Just then, as if tuning into my thoughts, the cat stretched and yawn. He then said, "Do you think that I would let you die?" It was more or less a matter-of-fact statement than a question. But the fact that the animal had uttered a syllable caught me by surprise. At that point, I believe that my jaw did drop.

"Did you—," I began but then cut myself off when I caught his icy glare that told me that I was asking a stupid question.

"O...Kay. Umm.. What did you mean that you wouldn't let me die?"

"Do you not feel it? The power flows within you? Boy, you may not know it, but you were born into a powerful legacy. It would be a shame to see it go to waste." I was no fool. I could tell that he probably cared less what would happen to me. He was probably after my power... whatever that was. I began to brainstorm what he could possibly use it for. Apocalypse readily came to mind, but could a cat really cause it? Then I thought about the curse.

"Uh.. Vergil?"

"What?" He probably hoped that I wasn't conscious enough to catch his name last night.

"So, this curse... What is it all about?"

He looked at me and rolled his strange silvery blue eyes. "Make no mind of it. It is none of your concern." He jumped off of the bookshelf and onto the hardwood floor, ready to saunter out of the room. I drew myself out of the bed quickly enough to shut the door before he was able to reach it.

"What are you doing? Open it!"

"Not before you give me an acceptable answer."

"I do not have time for this. Open it, now!" The cat assumed a battle stance, ready to pounce on me.

"Need I remind you that right now that you are a fifteen pound cat? You can't possibly think that you can beat me up." I almost laughed at my own words, but I managed to keep a straight face. I folded my arms across my chest and cocked an eyebrow to rub in my indignation. He stood down for a moment, feline eyes betraying deep contemplation. Soon, he walked away; his tail sashaying behind him like a thick plume of smoke. I've never seen someone, or animal for that matter, attempt to seem so nonchalant over being bested and fail so miserably. He couldn't play it off and that was laugh in and of itself.

I plopped down onto my bed and decided that maybe I should sleep in before my parents got up. That is... until the visage of my Grandfather's sword popped into my head. I had realized that in my near-death experience with that goat demon I had forgotten about the Sun and Moon blade. I sprung from my position and bolted down the stairs at an incredible speed. Less than a second had passed from the moment I leapt up from my bed to when I had stepped just outside the front door. Okay, okay... I'm sure that sometime during my storytelling, I _may_ have over-exaggerated one or two things. But clearing a large portion of my house in a fraction of a second was NOT one of those situations. By then, I had already realized the anomaly.

I was not in any amazing shape or a track star, although I highly doubt that an Olympic runner, even with massive doses of steroids could run at those speeds. Most of all, I noticed that I hadn't broken a sweat. It felt as though I had walked at a normal pace. _What exactly happened last night?_

I went down the front walk, past the mini-crater made by the demon and the segment of concrete stained with my blood. It was strange seeing the same spot where I nearly kicked the bucket. _How would I begin to explain all of this to Mom and Dad?_ I looked high and low; I even got on my hands knees searching for the ancient sword. _Did someone steal it? Why would anyone want it?_

I crawled into some nearby bushes and suddenly came face to face with the old sword... along with a rather nasty addition. It was covered by the dried and gunky black blood of that demon. It had caked all over the handle and must have some how messed with the sliding mechanism, because the blades were stuck in their current positions. Some of the blood had hardened like rock. I had no idea how I'd deal with this, I but had to cleaned. I could not stand to see Grandpa's sword ruined. After all, He entrusted it to me before he died. Even if it had no monetary value, it was more than worth its weight in gold in sentimentality.

I made a move for the house when my limbs suddenly felt weighted down. I was too tired to move. As if on cue, the cat made an appearance. "What's happening," I groaned out. Even that was too taxing.

"Aimee warned that there will be side effects," the cat regarded me calmly as he sat a foot from my collapsed form.

"What are you talking about," I asked trying to make heads or tails of the fog that was the previous night.

"You were mortally wounded by a Blood Goat. After I finished off the demon, I brought to Aimee to heal you," his tone was cold as he explained what happened last night. It was as if he was completely detached or uninvolved with what happened, "The only thing that could be done to preserve your life was to give you demon's blood."

"Yours?"

"Yes. I suppose that the side effects she talked about included taking on some of my abilities." It didn't make any sense; to feel so invincible one second and totally drained the next.

"Then, why do I feel so horrible?"

"Your body is not used to exerting such force. It will get better with time."

"What have I agreed to," I asked myself aloud.

"You agreed to survive. What may happen is a mystery... even to me." The cat's ears twitched towards the front door and he then turned to walk into the house.

"Hey! Where are you going?!"

"To eat. I am hungry."

"How? The only thing that is left out is that peanut butter and you said yourself that you can't eat it this form."

"Who said I was getting anything myself," quipped back, "Your parents are awake. You had better get back inside before you are blamed for this mess." Unfortunately, Vergil had a point. He always did. But he had that smug edge about himself that _made_ you want to knock him down a peg. I followed his lead into the house, quietly closing the door behind me and stashing the sword in the coat closet.

Mom was already in the kitchen, making breakfast. I went in and expertly greeted her with my sleepy voice as if I had just woken up. I yawned and proceeded with a gravelly voice, "Good morning, Mom." An Oscar-worthy performance, if I don't say so myself.

"Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?"

"Not so much. I think I'm not used to this time zone yet."

"Maybe you should get some more sleep. Then later maybe we can see about returning this cat to his owners." Vergil was at her side, rubbing against her leg and letting out a low purr. "But he's so well mannered," she continued as she reached down to feed him some bacon, "It will be a shame to give him up." Vergil happily gobbled up his morsel, pretending to be oblivious to what she was saying. If only she knew what a cold, heartless, asshole he was. Before my dad had taken on this line of work, Mom had been a veterinarian. It would be no wonder why she was so kind to animals. Dad always said that she had a gift that would put Dr. Doolittle to shame.

I wondered how he does it. How does he manage to fool people into initially liking him? Did he exude some kind of charm invisible to me? Then again, when I first saw him, I was drawn in like a moth to a flame. And maybe he wasn't so heartless. He could have let me bleed to death when the Goat ran me through with its claws. My own ears perked up as I heard a male voice muttering about being late. My eyes shifted towards Vergil, whose mouth was too full to say a peep. Then my final thought came to my father, who was nowhere in sight. It sounded close, as if he was just around the corner.

"I'm gonna go and try to catch a few more winks," I said before I ambled back to my room.

"Sweet dreams," I heard her say as I rounded the corner. I dragged myself up the stairs, still playing the part as just plain sleepy.

"Mornin', Son," Dad cheerfully said as I passed him on the stairs. I'd admit that I was surprised to see that had still been upstairs. _How did I hear him all the way from the kitchen? Had there been an open above my head or something?_ There must have been some logical explanation... Or maybe one of Aimee's so-called 'side effects' included superhuman hearing.

All I did was grumble in response as I kept in character and hurried to my room. I noticed that he was dressed in a suit and tie, not something that one would just wear around the house. I figured that he was on his way to his new office to check-in with the 'big bosses'. The man honestly didn't deserve the less-than-enthused greeting that I gave him, but I was in no mood to talk to my parents. I wanted to know what was happening to me and I needed to know now.

Vergil pulled ahead of me and into the room. I walked in and closed the door behind. I stood at an imposing stance that screamed, 'you've got some explaining to do.'

"Talk," I said in a hushed voice so that if there were any eavesdroppers outside of the door, they could not hear.

"About what," the cat replied, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"_Everything_! What is going to happened to me?!"

The cat hopped onto my bed in a single bound and looked at me straight in the eyes. "I am not a cheap storefront psychic and I do not know what _will_ happen. But I do know that you are not asking the right question."

"What?" I could scarcely believe what he had said. How could asking about my well-being be wrong?

"Think about it," Vergil said before he curled up on the bed. And I did... long and hard. _What could it be that I was missing?_ My mind started rewinding through the two previous nights. Then the answer came to me. How could I have missed it? I didn't want to be hasty in blurting out the wrong thing, as if I needed his approval. I had known the cat for going on three days and I had already gotten into enough trouble to last a lifetime. But considering that the 'correct' question had donned on me, 'enough trouble' may have been the understatement of the century.

I decided to give it a try and work out the logic. I had met Vergil on the urban excursion that I made on my first night in Montreal. At first, he seemed like a normal, run-of-the-mill cat... maybe even a little too crafty for my likes. Therein lies the problem.

"How come you haven't spoken in this form before," I finally asked.

Although he wasn't facing at me, I could practically _feel_ his cruel smile creeping across face. "Oh, but I have. It takes a devil to understand a demonic animal."

I almost began to say something back, maybe even faint at what he told me. I could have come up with some epic line, but all I did was dumbly reply, "Huh? Does that mean that I'm a devil too? How?"

"Simple. You agreed to it last night. In your desperation to survive, you made a pact."

I blinked... two times... thrice... "Say Whaa?"

* * *

**Kuro:** You're a bitch! He survived!

**Eric:** MazdaKitsune made me do it! She enticed me with a plushie.

**Kuro:** I'm gonna burn that plushie... ALIVE! (steals plushie)

**Eric:** Oh noes! (reaches for plushie) I'd like to say that I'm sorry that its shorter than usual and I hope that it wasn't entirely made of fail.

**Shadow:** Dumbasses. (sighs) This episode was brought to you by the letters 'F' and 'U' and Power Thirst energy drink. What? Don't believe me?! Youtube it!

**Kuro:** (whispers) I'll get him next time. KuroAlma requires your reviews or feel his wrath. (flicks open zippo lighter)


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